


shelter

by reversemagician (himaAlaya)



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 04:17:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15878370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/himaAlaya/pseuds/reversemagician
Summary: “Shut up.” He shoved his bag back under the bed roughly. “I didn’t say anything. You’re just hearing things.”“No way! You called him Dad, I heard you!”





	shelter

**Author's Note:**

> my second piece for [chevalerie!](https://susanhwang.net/chevalerie/)
> 
> i never want to listen to shelter ever again.

Mordred sat up, throwing his own blankets off before shuffling out of his bed towards Arthur’s bed. He pulled the covers off his sleeping friend, earning a quiet grumble from Arthur. He curled into himself, grasping for a blanket that wasn’t there.

“I told you to wear something warmer to bed…” Mordred muttered to himself, grabbing at the thin shirt Arthur was wearing. It was an older shirt, one of his favorites. He grabbed Arthur’s shoulder, shaking him unceremoniously. “Arthur. Wake up.”  Mordred kept tugging at his shirt uselessly, though he knew from experience that it wasn’t going to work. It was a two-step process to wake Arthur up so early in the morning. 

He threw the blanket onto the floor. Wandering over to the window, he picked a few leaves off of the mint plant he was growing. There were consequences to being late now. The sisters back in the orphanage would be understanding and wait for Arthur to roll out of bed to be fed, but it was a little different now. Vice-Captain Vane was kind, but Mordred was not about to test the limits of his patience when it came to waiting for breakfast. 

He sat on the bed, running his hand through Arthur’s hair until his thumb rested on the right pressure point. In his other hand, he rubbed the mint between his fingers in preparation. Mordred pressed lightly, and Arthur grumbled again more loudly. He pressed down harder, and Arthur moved away from him. He was more awake now, but still not conscious enough to get out of bed. 

Mordred shoved the mint under his nose, leaning over him and rubbing it between his fingers to release the scent. Arthur gagged, sitting up abruptly. Mordred didn’t have time to move, resulting in a collision. Their heads banged together, and Mordred grabbed his forehead in pain.  

“Really?! Really!” 

Arthur fell backwards into the bed, grabbing his forehead as well. “Why were you right there?!”

“Why did you sit up so fast!” Mordred hissed back as he got off the bed. “This happens every time! Why do I just stay there...”  Mordred muttered to himself, throwing the mint leaves on Arthur’s face. 

Arthur sputtered, trying not to get the herb into his mouth, and failing. He sat up again, more slowly. He groaned loudly, running his hands through his hair in place of combing down his wild bedhead. Arthur finally looked up at Mordred. “Is that my shirt?” 

“Why would I be wearing your shirt?” Mordred snapped, pulling at the fabric. He felt it rub against his back. Maybe this wasn’t his shirt. He looked down at it. The cotton was worn and familiar to him. But come to think of it, for all its familiarity, it still wasn’t his. Not that he would admit it now.

“It is!” Arthur got on his knees and crawled to the end of his bed where Mordred had situated himself. He tugged at the edge of the shirt. “I didn’t think you liked it that much.” Arthur smiled, practically blinding him. How could one person be awake so suddenly?

“Just get out of bed already!” Mordred snapped, pulling the shirt off over his head and throwing it at Arthur. “We’re going to be late for breakfast. I don’t want Dad to get mad at us — ” Mordred stopped abruptly, immediately tensing up when Arthur spoke up. 

“Dad?” Arthur asked. Mordred turned away, stalking back to his own bed to pull his bag out from underneath it. “Wait, Mordred. Did you just call Vane...Dad?” Mordred bristled, and Arthur watched his ears flatten out in annoyance. 

“Shut up.” He shoved his bag back under the bed roughly. “I didn’t say anything. You’re just hearing things.” 

“No way! You called him Dad, I heard you!”

“I said,  _ shut up! _ ” Mordred said with more force this time. He kept his back turned to Arthur, holding his clothes to his chest. “I didn’t make that mistake. I won’t make that mistake again.” 

Arthur reached out, stopping in his tracks as Mordred told him to shut up. “It’s okay, he calls himself daddy — ”

“That’s not what this is about.” Mordred muttered. It was very clearly what this was about. Neither of them had any recollection of their parents. War had taken so much from them, and Mordred refused to be thrown away again. He wanted some place to belong. If he had to claw his way through the exams to find that place for himself and for Arthur, then so be it.

He heard the sheets rustling, and soft footsteps coming up behind him. Arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders, and pulled him backwards into a hug.

“You know it’s ok to cry sometimes, right?” Arthur rested his chin on Mordred’s shoulder, face almost completely obscured by his hair. “Have you seen how much Vane does? Maybe you should take after him a little more.” 

Mordred swatted at him, dropping his clothes to hit him in the nose. “You already take enough after Vane for the two of us.” 

“Fine! I accept this fate!” 

The door creaked open, interrupting them. Arthur turned his head, and quickly shook Mordred. “Mordred, Vane’s here — ”

“Hey! Are you two going to stay in here all morning? Breakfast is ready!” 

Mordred shot up, knocking Arthur off of him and onto the floor as he stood. There was no recovering from how decidedly ungraceful this whole situation probably looked. The clothes strewn across the floor around Mordred’s bed certainly didn’t help the situation much either. 

“Yes, Dad!” Mordred yelped, not turning to look around. 

Arthur’s hand shot up from behind the bed to point in Mordred’s general direction. “You did it again!” 

Mordred felt his ears burning up, his face heating up drastically to match. His ears drooped, and he covered his face in shame. A small muffled noise could be heard. 

“Dad?” Vane questioned before he turned around and looked out into the hall, seeing if anyone else was there. He turned back, watching Mordred hastily change into his clothes. He finally turned around, ears still flattened slightly against his head. 

Arthur’s hands were still up in the air, waiting for Mordred to pull him up. Mordred grabbed his arms, yanking him to his feet before shoving him back onto the bed. He circled around, pulling out Arthur’s clothes and dumping them next to him so he could change. With that taken care of, Mordred ducked his head as he tried to slide quietly past Vane and escape into the hallway. 

“Mordred.”

He froze in place when Vane called out to him. He made no attempt to make eye contact, only staring down at his feet as he waited quietly for the vice-captain to say something,  _ anything _ . 

There weren’t any words. 

Vane pulled him in and wrapped his arms around him, squeezing uncharacteristically gently. Mordred didn’t know what to do, or even what to say. He wrapped his arms around Vane in kind, gripping his shirt tightly. He pressed his face into the fabric, breathing in the clean and comforting scent of fresh laundry and Vane's soap. One moment of weakness, safe in the arms of someone who cared deeply about him and Arthur. He would allow himself this much. Vane could feel his shoulders shaking, warm tears soaking into his shirt.

Maybe Arthur was right, it was okay to cry sometimes. 


End file.
